


After the Crash

by katikat



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode Related, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 21:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13257249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat
Summary: Missing scene from ep 113. After the crash, Jack’s the first one to wake up. Or, how did Mac get out of the wreck? Jack’s POV. (Unbeta'd)





	After the Crash

After the crash, Jack’s the first one to wake up.

Actually, it’s not so much a waking up as a slow, steady floating towards consciousness. Because everything hurts and worst of all his head. If he didn’t have a concussion before, he sure as hell has one now.  _Ow, goddammit!_

He tries to lift one hand to touch his aching noggin and that’s when he realizes he’s hanging almost upside down in his seat, halfway out of the helicopter that somehow, somewhere, at some point lost all of its doors, it seems, and the only thing that’s actually keeping him in place is his seatbelt.  _Christ on a pony!_ If his seatbelt were less sturdy, he would now be scattered in itty bitty pieces all over the Kazakh border!

And that’s when that one all-important thought pierces his muddy brain:  _Mac!_

Jack tries to straighten up and look around quickly - but his body has different ideas. Yikes, he’s getting old for this. The muscles in his back scream bloody murder at him as he pulls himself up, moving hand over hand up the doorway and then up the pilot’s seat - ah, Sandy… Cindy…  _Cynthia_ , yes, Cynthia’s still in her seat, too, good! - and when he’s finally upright, he turns to the right, to where Mac was sitting before the crash, and pleads silently,  _Please, be there, please, be alive, just please…_

Mac  _is_ there, right there, in his seat, and Jack breathes out in relief, long and hard, and some of the tension that’s been making his head hurt even more leaves him.  _Thank you, God, thank you!_

“Mac?” Jack croaks out.

Mac was thrown forward during the crash and now he’s leaning against the twisted seat in front of him. His head’s turned in Jack’s direction and his right cheek’s pressed hard against the back of the co-pilot’s seat. His eyes are shut, his mouth’s slack, his left arm’s dangling freely while his right one’s resting in his lap. Jack really doesn’t like how pale he looks.

“Hey, Mac?” he calls out again softly, resting his right hand on Mac’s back. It’s warm and Jack can feel it rise and fall, rise and fall, slowly and steadily. Mac’s alive. Mac’s breathing.  _Mac’s not dead!_

But there’s smoke coming from somewhere and Jack has no idea if the fire’s about to go out - or if it’s about to blow them to high heavens. In any case, he needs to get Mac out. He would rather not move him - Mac’s breathing but there can still be internal damage - but he knows that help’s not coming anytime soon, so… it’s up to him.

He fumbles with his seatbelt, his fingers are numb and bruised, and when he finally gets it to click open, he forces his aching body across the vacant space between him and Mac - there’s something he should remember about that vacant spot, something important! - and then he reaches out with both hands for Mac, hissing as the muscles in his shoulders, pulled and burning, inevitably yell at him in protest.  _Suck it up!_

Gently, he runs his hands up and down Mac’s back and when he doesn’t find anything amiss - no bones poking out, no squishy places where squishy places have no right to be - he lays his right hand on the back of Mac’s neck and his left one he rests against Mac’s breastbone. Then very,  _very_ carefully he pushes Mac back, sitting him up.

Mac’s head lolls to the side and his left hand flops onto the seat, palm up. His eyes remain closed, though, and he’s yet to make a sound which is starting to worry Jack. Mac’s never been the chatty type but this unnatural silence’s shredding Jack’s nerves.

Patting Mac’s face, Jack calls out, “Mac? Come one, boy. I’m starting to freak out here!”

Nothing.

“Dammit. Dammit all to hell and back!” Jack grumbles softly under his breath as he runs his hands down Mac’s neck and shoulders, down his arms and torso and legs, probing for breaks and finding none. Thank God for small mercies!

The cabin, broken open in all the possible - and in some impossible - places, is filling with smoke, so Jack needs to get Mac out now. He looks across him, out the other side of the helicopter, but the metal’s torn there, jagged and sharp - once again Jack realizes just how close they came to dying and shudders - so, his side out it is, then.

Jack unclips Mac’s seatbelt, then he carefully turns Mac around, gripping him under his arms, and starts pulling him out, sliding him across the seat, Mac’s back to his chest, Mac’s head lolling against his shoulder.

“Alright, okay, buddy,” Jack whispers. “Just a little bit farther. Just a little more.”

He stumbles out of helicopter, tripping, and almost falls. In the last second he catches himself, his left hand shoots out to grip the wreck’s metal frame, even though it jars his already hurting shoulder painfully. But the last thing Mac needs is another tumble before he even got the chance to shake off this one.

Jack straightens up and pulls some more, gently dropping Mac’s legs to the ground. Okay, they’re out. Only now does Jack look around, checking the crash site. He’s relieved to see that, though there might be some fire, it won’t cause an explosion. There’s not enough fuel left, they must’ve lost most of it during the crash. Not good for the environment, sure, but definitely good for  _them_. 

And that means, he won’t have to drag Mac far to get him to safety. Which is a  _very_ good thing because the kid might not be fat - actually, most of the time Jack thinks Mac should put more meat on those bones of his - but his slimness is all muscle, he’s no lightweight and after only a few steps, Jack’s bruised and beaten body’s already begging for relief.

Carefully, Jack sets Mac down.  _Dry_ ground would be preferable but, well, muck will have to do. Jack drops to his knees by Mac’s side and rearranges his limbs into a more comfortable position. Then he rests there for a second, winded and aching and really seeing double now, all joking aside.

And in that moment, Mac makes a soft sound, a sigh, and furrows his brows a little, showing first signs of waking up.

Jack laughs, and blinking back tears - must be the concussion,  _really_ \- he whispers in mock reproach, “ _Now_ you’re waking up? Couldn’t you’ve done that five minutes ago and spare me the hassle?” Deep down he’s really,  _really_ glad, though. Happy even, despite their dire circumstances.

“Alright, buddy,” Jack says, patting Mac on the chest, “I’m going to go and look in on Cynthia now. No rest for the wicked, as the saying goes. Or for bodyguards of mad genius tinkerers. Is the same thing…”

Mac doesn’t respond verbally, but he turns his head in Jack’s direction a little. It makes Jack smile again.

“Okay, Jack,” he urges himself, “up you go, lazy bones!”

And with a groan, Jack gets up and goes to check their pilot.


End file.
